


Snip

by SirKai



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKai/pseuds/SirKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavy and Medic are having a less than ideal day pushing the Payload cart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snip

Water trailed down his bruising face, mixing with blood from the open wounds across his cheek and brow. Medic’s expression relaxed and his shoulders sagged. The wooden baseball bat dropped from his limp fingers onto the wooden planks at his feet. His heavy breathing steadily subsided as he stared down at the sprawled, bludgeoned figure.

“Doktor...” a voice croaked.

The German spun his head around at the massive Russian, sitting against the tall wooden beam supporting the second story payload track. The doctor clenched his teeth as he reached across his chest at a bleeding gunshot wound and pinched the the torn flesh together. Red fluid crept along the fingertips of his gloves.

“Heavy,” Medic groaned. He lifted a leg to step towards his mammoth teammate. The arrow piercing his knee sent the doctor stumbling forward. The damp, rotting wood smashed the frames of Medic’s glasses against his face. Shattered fragments of the lens slashed across his left eye. Blood leaked through his eyelid.

“Dokt-”

“AAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Medic screamed. He pounded his sore knuckles against the wooden planks. He shrieked in defeat. Again and again. He was shot, beaten, stabbed and was now blind in one eye. Even his glasses were broken. An indiscernible slew of German swear words hissed from beyond his teeth.

“Doktor,” Heavy repeated painfully.

Medic wrenched his eye up from the splintered wood and stared at Heavy. A pitiful rush job of soaked, scarlet bandages wrapped across his scorched forehead and shotgun pellet-peppered gut. One of his mammoth, blood-soaked hands was clasped over the blade wound at his neck. He stared back at Medic through sagging, half-lidded eyes and barely managed to extend a shaking arm. The doctor slowly crawled the several feet towards the Russian, dragging his wounded leg.

Medic outstretched his gloved hand towards Heavy’s, and collapsed headfirst into his ally’s lap.

“Look at us,” Medic mumbled into the Russian’s pant leg. “We’re pazheitc.”

Why does dying have to be so miserable? Medic thought.

The doctor shut his eye, and felt his teammate’s hand gently rest on top of his head.


End file.
